Dream On While You Can
by TiTivillus
Summary: "I've seen my brother die, but watching him become not him… This might actually be worse." Episode 12x11 'Regarding Dean'. Hurt/Comfort. Brotherly Feels.


**Title:** Dream On While You Can

 **Summary:** "I've seen my brother die, but watching him become not him… This might actually be worse." Episode 12x11 'Regarding Dean'. Hurt/Comfort. Brotherly Feels.

 **Warnings:** Rated K+ for bad language and references to past violence, injuries and torture. Spoilers up to 12x11.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own the show or the boys.

* * *

It was a question that had sneaked up on his subconscious, taking him by surprise.

And once the thought had occurred to Sam, he couldn't stop mulling it over in his head, couldn't seem to forget about it, no matter how hard he tried.

How much of Dean was made of his trauma?

How much of Dean's character was the bag of issues he carried around with him?

How much of all that crap- the guilt, the self-worth issues, the remorse, and pain- could you take away before Dean was no longer himself?

Where did you cross the line between relieving him of his terrible burden and destroying him entirely?

Right now, Dean's shoulders were shaking with the force of his laughter, eyes crinkling around the corners over some shit Scooby-Doo had done on TV and Sam's heart filled with dread, his lips twisting into an unhappy line at the realization that Dean – the real Dean, no longer knew how to laugh like this.

Sure, there were snorted laughs and huffs of laughter, a flirty grin cocked at a waitress, maybe, but Sam couldn't really remember when the two of them had laughed like Dean was laughing right now, like he really meant it, like he didn't have a care in the world, like the world wasn't about to end again, tomorrow.

While it was nice to see Dean this _dopey_ , it also made Sam's heartache in the worst possible way because it meant that Dean had started losing a part of himself that was in a way, essential to his character.

"Hey, uh…" Sam didn't know what he'd expected when he had walked up to his brother, but when Dean gave him that hopeful, almost childlike smile, his throat dried up like sandpaper and he gulped, feeling oddly out of sync with the world. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure," Dean agreed readily and then frowned at the remote in his lap as if he didn't really know what to make of it.

He fumbled with the buttons for a few seconds, trying to figure out how to switch off the TV.

"Which one is the—"

"Gimme that," Sam snatched the remote from his brother's fingers and hit the power button without even looking at the screen before he harshly tossed it to the ground.

Dean flinched a little at the unexpected outburst and Rowena cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow at them from the side as if to silently demand what the poor remote had ever done to deserve such treatment.

Sam's frustration welled in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Dean didn't even know how to fucking use a remote.

Soon he wouldn't remember how to tie his shoes or how to eat or speak or breathe.

And there was absolutely nothing okay about that.

"I need to talk to you," Sam forced his voice to remain calm, even as his eyes flickered over to where Rowena. He curled his fingers into fists, hating the fact that they had to work with her- hating that she was the one they depended on to save Dean's lie. "In _private_."

Dean was so eager to comply, following Sam into that bathroom and even that tiny thing- the lack of protest or sarcasm when Sam steered his older brother into the shady little motel bathroom and sat him down on the edge of that bathtub would have caused Sam's alarm bells to go off, if he hadn't already been out of his mind with worry.

"So what's this about? You gonna tell me a secret or something?" Dean smirked, like the mere idea that Sam was about to confide in him was exciting to him.

Sam kept his eyes mostly averted because it hurt to look at him that way, it hurt to see him this childlike and innocent and to know that it wasn't going to last.

"Dean, the guy we were talking about earlier, the one who's going to die? That's… you realize that's you, right? Your name is Dean Winchester. You're a hunter and so am I. We've been hunting monsters for pretty much all our lives. It's what we do. The family business. And now you've... you've been hit with a curse. It makes you forget things."

The look of horror and confusion on Dean's face only seemed to grow with every word Sam said.

"I…" Dean looked down to regard his fingers. "I hunt… monsters?"

"Yeah, you do. Vampires, witches, demons, shapeshifters, anything that goes bump in the night," Sam said solemnly. "You're pretty damn good at it, too."

"And our parents are dead?"

Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat and dropped his gaze. "Yeah, they are. Our dad raised us to become hunters to get revenge on the demon that killed our mom."

He told himself that it was smarter to leave Mary out of this because it would only end up being more confusing for Dean, but maybe, after how badly Dean had hurt when their mom had left them again, Sam just didn't want Dean to remember her. Maybe it was better, just for now, if they pretended that she had never come back.

That they were just as orphaned, just as alone in this world as they had always been, with only one another to rely on.

"How old am I?" Dean asked softly, his voice shaky and small and Sam had to bite his lip for a moment because he had seen Dean in every possible physical and emotional state possible, but he'd never heard him sound so lost before and it just… _hurt_.

"Thirty-eight."

Dean seemed to process that for a moment, eyes flickering from side to side as if it was all too much too handle and Sam felt the sudden urge to just hug him and tell him that things were going to be alright. That he was going to fix this, even if it was the last thing he did.

Dean's gaze finally settled on Sam and when his mouth opened again, Sam knew exactly what he was going to ask next and he wasn't sure if he could handle to hear it.

"I'm younger by four years," he supplied, fingers tightening against the cracked porcelain of the bathtub he was sitting on. "You used to…" Sam tried to smile but his lips only gave a weak twitch before they turned down again at the corners. "You watch out for me."

In all their years together, through all their ups and downs, that had always been a universal truth between them. Dean had always taken so much pride in being the older brother. The protector.

Watching out for him had given Dean a sense of purpose in his life.

It had become more to him than just a simple next-of-kin loyalty.

In a way, it had been Dean's life motto; his number-one priority.

And now he was sitting here and looking at Sam like he knew who Sam was but not what he meant to Dean- not what they'd been through together.

He sat there and looked at Sam like he didn't remember all the things they'd said and the looks they'd shared and the terrible, terrible things they'd seen. He looked at Sam like they hadn't lost each other too many times to count. Like they hadn't lost every single damn person that ever mattered to them and survived it all. Together.

And that- that lack of recognition- that lack of the deep, deep, unabiding love that had always flickered so vividly in Dean's gaze whenever he'd looked at Sam- that spark of family and friendship and limitless devotion they'd both built up throughout all their lives- was slowly dimming.

And somehow that hurt worse than any sort of loss Sam had ever endured.

Because Dean was right here, beside him, but at the same time, he wasn't. He was fading right out of Sam's grasp- right out of his life.

"So we are close?" Dean made it sound so innocent like the words weren't slicing straight through Sam's skin and stabbing him in the heart. His big, stupid, vulnerable heart.

He blinked against an unfamiliar sting of pain- because their brotherhood wasn't questioned often between them- and it felt so fucking wrong – so inadequate- to put what they shared into words.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam huffed out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, we are."

Aside from a dorky angel and a wayward mom, you're all I have left in this world.

 _You're my brother. You mean everything to me, man._ _Don't you dare forget that..._

"So after everything, this is it, huh?" Dean asked, visibly distraught by the idea and Sam scolded himself for being so crappy at this, for focusing so much on his own damn pain when this curse was so obviously hurting Dean too- when Dean was the real victim in all of this. "This- this curse... is what finally nails me."

"No," Sam shook his head and inhaled deeply. "No, no, Dean. It's not gonna happen, all right?"

Dean didn't even look up at him.

His shoulders were slumped in defeat, his eyes filled with fear- not of death, but of losing himself, of having to become someone he didn't recognize in the mirror, of forgetting every single person he had ever cared about.

He was shaking and worrying his lips and wringing his hands and Sam didn't think he could have stayed cooped up in that bathroom for much longer, even if he wanted to because he couldn't watch his brother become a shell of the man he used to be.

"We'll figure it out. All right? We will."

Sam gave Dean a light pat on the back in reassurance, knowing that he wouldn't be able to handle anything more at the moment. He was dangerously close to losing it and he couldn't allow himself to break down when Dean relied on him to fix this.

His brother needed him.

And that was all that mattered.

* * *

It wasn't _all_ lost on him.

There were bits and pieces of stuff he still remembered, but Dean could feel it slowly slipping through his fingers and the broken shards of memories would soon be replaced by blank space, like a soft beige wall bereft of old photographs.

Back in that bathroom, he'd felt the panic clawing at his chest at not being able to remember his own name- of not knowing who he was.

But the panic he'd felt back then was _nothing_ in comparison to the level of utter distress he felt at hearing his brother's agonized scream over the speaker.

"SAM!" the name tumbled past his lips before he was even consciously aware of it, heart kicking up instinctively in his chest and fingers curling helplessly by his side.

This was his _brother_ getting hurt.

And even if he knew nothing else, Dean could still feel the way dread settled in his bones and chilled him to the core.

He had forgotten everything, even who he was, even his own name.

Everything but that _one name_ , that _one person_.

 _Sam.  
_

* * *

"Who's that hippie?"

Maybe if Sam had been in a better mental and emotional condition, maybe if he hadn't come so close to losing Dean that day- maybe if he hadn't spent most of that day expecting – dreading the moment where his older brother looked at him with nothing but indifference in his gaze, those words wouldn't have hit him as hard as they did.

But, oh boy, did they _hurt_.

Sam felt like his heart was ripped in two, a wave of overwhelming, mind-numbing nausea flooding his veins as Dean continued to walk down that staircase with a frown on his face.

He wanted to scream and rant and shake Rowena for not being able to fix this, for not keeping her promise, but his anger for her couldn't compete with the all-consuming grief he felt.

Dean had forgotten him.

He had forgotten that he'd been the one to teach Sam how to walk and talk and how to tie his shoelaces. He'd forgotten that Sam used to draw him stick figure pictures and that time Dean showed him how to drive and the time he took him for his first beer.

He'd forgotten the amulet Sam had given him and the little tin soldier they'd jammed into the ashtray and the initials they'd carved into the backseat of the Impala.

"Seriously, who's that fella?" Dean jabbed a thumb at Sam, looking genuinely confused and Sam could feel something inside of him crack at the words.

He raked shaky fingers through his hair and curled them up into fists, pulling hard enough on the strands to make his eyes water.

What now? Where would he even start? By introducing himself to the person who had been right there, by his side, for every single step of his life? What if there was no cure for this? What if Dean was never going to remember him again?

Sam opened his mouth, but the words got stuck in his throat and all that escaped his lips was a small, involuntary breath of despair.

His vision slowly started to blur, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

"Dean…" the word was nothing but a ragged whisper. "I-It's _me_."

Sam would have given anything- done anything- to hear Dean say his name, to hear his big brother calling him 'Sammy' or 'Samantha' or 'Bitch' in that moment.

But Dean just continued to look at him like he had no clue what Sam was talking about and a first tear slipped from Sam's eyes. "I- I'll be back, I just need…"

The sentence trailed off into nothingness as Sam whipped around and stormed out of the room, unable to look at the feigned pity in Rowena's gaze or the absolute lack of recognition in Dean's. He had barely made it past the door frame, hands shaking and lungs burning with the need to draw in oxygen when he heard it.

"Hey, woah, man. Take it easy," Dean said as he tried to step closer, but Sam couldn't deal with him right now; couldn't pull himself together enough to face Dean's amnesia or the fact that they were strangers now. " _Sam!_ Look at me, man, c'mon."

Sam blinked, his heart stumbling to a halt in his chest as realization slowly sank in.

 _Sam._

Dean had called him by his name, which meant Rowena's counter-spell must have worked.

And in that moment, a red haze of anger clouded Sam's every thought, making it hard to breathe or think or do anything but stare at Dean in absolute disbelief.

Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers were curled into a fist and his arm was lashing forward in a swift right hook, punching Dean straight in the face and sending him stumbling back a few steps. Dean cursed and caught himself on the wall, one hand reaching up to grab his jaw as his face twisted in a grimace of shock and pain.

Sam took a shaky inhale and turned away, wiping angrily at his eyes as his knuckles throbbed with pain.

" _Not funny,_ Dean," Sam gritted out through clenched teeth, voice wavering with a mix of fear and anger and relief because Dean might be a dick but he was also Dean again- the real Dean- and that was all Sam had asked for.

"Alright, I probably deserved that," Dean held one hand up in a placating manner and stepped forward, his other one still cradling his jaw. He was all back to himself now and Sam idly wondered how he hadn't noticed it before, in the way he moved and walked and talked. "Look, I took it too far, Sam. I'm sorry."

Sam locked his jaw and looked away, fingers still tightly clamped around the door knob.

"Hey, c'mon," Dean grabbed his hand and lightly tugged on his wrist, pulling him away from the door. "I'm good, okay? I remember everything. From your terrible school plays to the rabbit food and your crappy taste in music… You seriously think I'd forget all that?"

You seriously think I could forget _you_?

Sam snorted and shook his head, gaze still carefully averted and suspiciously shiny. "Yeah, you got me there for a second."

He sniffed and squirmed under Dean's gaze, feeling mildly embarrassed in the wake of his own emotions. Damn it, Sam, get a grip. Wiping shaky fingers over his mouth in a nervous gesture, Sam cleared his throat. "So should we head back? You're probably tired from all that… memento crap. We could go hit a burger joint or something on our way home if you're hungry—"

"Sammy," Dean cut his nervous ramble off with a soft expression on his face and Sam felt his composure crumble even more under his brother's heavy gaze, under the weight of meaning behind that one stupid nickname.

He's the only one who gets to call me that.

Maybe with Dean retreating further and further into his own mind, nobody would have ever called him that again. And even if anyone ever did, it wouldn't have been the same coming from anyone else.

"I'm okay, it's just… been a long day," Sam swallowed and tried to pull away, but not before Dean sighed and tugged him in by the neck, wrapping both his strong arms around Sam's shoulder in a tight hug.

Sam stiffened for a second before he allowed himself to relax into the embrace, tangling his fingers into Dean's jacket and squeezing his eyes shut against that annoying sting of tears.

Dean tightened his arms around him, probably realizing how badly Sam needed the touch to ground himself in his brother's presence, to soak in the knowledge that Dean was back and right there and remembering everything- the good and the bad- everything that made them, them.

When they finally pulled apart, Sam cleared his throat again, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dean gave his shoulder a last pat and flashed him a trademark grin. "You were talking burgers?"

Sam snorted, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "No more bull riding for you. And no more running after witches when I'm not there to back you up."

Dean scoffed at him. "You're no fun, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know," Sam chuckled.

He was strangely okay with that, as long as it meant Dean was going to remember how to breathe the next morning.

As long as he still remembered that they came in a package deal, that they were brothers, Sam honestly didn't care about the rest.

As they marched over to the Impala, Sam couldn't help but think about how nice it was to see Dean looking happy and carefree despite _everything_ \- how good it had been to see Dean without the usual burden that had weighed his heart down for so long.

But surprisingly, Dean disagreed. "Look, was it nice to drop our baggage? Yeah, maybe. Hell, probably. But it wasn't just the crap that got lost. I mean it was everything, Sammy. It was us, what we do, all of it… So if that's what being happy looks like, I think I'll pass."

And that right there, Dean admitting that yes, it had been great to have that burden lifted from his shoulders, but that he still wouldn't want to live a life where he didn't remember his own family because that wasn't a prize he was willing to pay.

Remembering his upbringing, his family history and the people he cared about was worth more to Dean than a carefree, happy life.

It reminded Sam of that case where they'd been stuck in a parallel universe, being famous actors and earning all that money, living in villas with beautiful wives and most importantly- in a world where monsters didn't exist.

They could have stayed there forever and lived happy lives.

But they wouldn't have been Sam and Dean Winchester.

 _We're not even brothers here, man..._

 _But it wasn't just the crap that got lost. I mean it was everything, Sammy. It was_ _ **us**_ _, what we do, all of it…_

That pretty much said it all.

 **The End.**

* * *

 _So, I made an exception for this one and I'm glad I did. The lyrics of the song played in the end damn near killed me. '_ For, all too soon you'll awaken; _Your toys will all be gone. Your broomstick horse will ride away, To find another home. And you'll have grown into a man, With cowboys of your own. And then you'll have to go to war, To try and save your home.' Oh Dean... :'-( I hope you enjoyed this fic. I wish we could have gotten a bro hug this time, but then again, don't I always? ;) Reviews make me happy!_


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